In the Mouth of the Tiger (31 page)

Denis woke as a heavier shower of rain drummed on the atap, and turned towards me. ‘Happy?' he asked sleepily.

‘Deliciously,' I said.

The next morning, Denis and I set off for Kuala Lipis with Ismail and our two guides. Pat had decided to stay a few more days, to see more of Anjang but mainly, I think, in order to visit a neighbouring Temiar community on the Sungei Renning. He was still in his proselytising mood and as we parted he gripped Denis's arm in the flamboyant two-handed Temiar way. ‘Go with my blessings, Tuan,' he said in formal Malay. ‘I must stay. My destiny is here amongst the Temiar.'

It was the last time I was to see Pat Noone, and I remember thinking then that he was either a saint or a melodramatic fool. He was to die in the ulu, fighting the Japanese as he had promised he would. He died with his dream of using the jungle against the invaders still only a dream. I think he may have learned at the end, as his plans unravelled in harsh reality, that you can never make an ally of the jungle. Its spirits are too powerful for that. Oblivious to the wishes and ambitions of humankind, it is and always has been implacably neutral.

Our plan was to walk about five miles down the Telom to a point where it broadened and deepened enough to be navigable, and then to ride the remaining fifteen miles to Kuala Lipis in comfort on a traditional Temiar bamboo raft. It may have been only five miles, but that walk took us most of the morning. The country was increasingly marshy, with several open areas where heavy, waist-high foliage hid the Sakai path from everyone except Uda and Busu – and even they were at times forced to crouch and

seemingly
smell
the earth to work out where we were.

About midday I was slogging along in a haze of exhaustion, just putting one muddy boot in front of the other, when the country suddenly opened up into a flat, fertile ladang. There was rice, and millet, and maize, and stands of tapioca, sugar cane and banana trees. In one quarter I saw vegetables growing in neat, irrigated rows, looking for all the world like any of the thousands of Chinese market gardens throughout Malaya.

The ladang sloped down to a fringe of tall bamboo bordering the Telom River, and as soon as we reached its shade our guides flopped down on their backs and rolled leaf cigarettes.

‘This is where we take to the river,' Denis said, and I sighed with relief. Then I looked around curiously.

‘Where is our raft?' I asked.

Our raft was all around us. After a short break and a meal of curry and rice brought from the longhouse in leaf containers, Uda and Busu set to work cutting and trimming thirty-foot lengths of bamboo. They worked with lightning speed and precision, laying out a raft on the grassy riverbank within minutes. Once the basic shape was there, they began binding the bamboo together with fresh-cut lengths of rattan, a rope-like climber also prevalent along the riverside. Bamboo cross-members gave the craft rigidity, and then, as a finishing touch, a raised platform of split bamboo was constructed for the comfort of the passengers.

The craft was built and launched within two hours, and we set off with Uda guiding from the front while Ismail and Besu poled us from the back. Denis and I sat like potentates on the raised platform in the middle, our gear piled around us.

That journey will live on in my memory until the day I die. As we reclined on the springy floor of split bamboo, the raft swooped down the deep, swirling Telom at a rate of knots. The ladang was soon out of sight and we entered virgin jungle, the foliage closing around us so that we seemed to be flying down a cool, green tunnel. At places, arching tree ferns formed feathery curtains across the river that we were obliged to part with our hands. In other places creepers snagged the raft and had to be cut with flashing parang strokes.

‘I almost expect to see Tarzan of the Apes,' I laughed in delight. I reached out and gripped Denis' hand. ‘Thank you for showing me all this. This
is
the real Malaya, isn't it? Just as Pat said.'

Denis smiled. ‘The ulu is pretty extraordinary. I remember that the first time I spent any time in the jungle, I came out so impressed I couldn't stop telling people how extraordinary it was. They thought I was quite mad. Few people know the ulu, and even for them it's almost impossible to explain what it's really like. I think the only writer who gets the picture half right is a chap called Henri Fauconnier, a Frenchman of all things. He wrote a book called
The Soul of Malaya
. I don't much like the way he depicts the planters – he obviously mixed with the wrong crowd – but his picture of the jungle, with the creepers, and the pitcher-plants, and little Java sparrows playing in the undergrowth, is pretty well spot on.'

We came upon our first set of rapids about ten miles out of Kuala Lipis. The rain the previous night had lifted the river level, which was a mixed blessing as it meant that while many of the shallower obstacles were covered, the speed of the water between the rocks was high, giving us no chance to change our minds once we were committed. We played it carefully for the first few rapids, beaching the raft and carrying it around the rocks, but as the river widened and slowed slightly we remained on board and steered the raft through the boiling water. We shot into one set of rapids so fast I thought we would surely turn turtle, and clung to the raft and to Denis with equal desperation. Black tongues of rock reached out for us, the raft reeled and spun, water drenched us all, but then we were through, the whole bunch of us yelling like idiots.

It was just after the last set of rapids before Kuala Lipis that it happened. We were cruising sedately down a long jade tunnel when the vegetation to our right opened up to reveal a natural clearing in the jungle, a delightful sunspeckled dell backed by orchids and creeper. And walking through it, seeming to keep pace with the raft, was our tiger from the Telom Valley. There was no mistaking its proud profile, the vivid white fur of its muzzle, the powerful ripple of muscles through its shiny coat.

Denis and I saw it at the same instant, and then Ismail was scrambling after the gun. ‘No, Ismail,' Denis said quickly. ‘This tiger is our friend.'

It didn't even deign to look at us until just before it was occluded by vegetation, but in the second it watched us I felt goosebumps. Its eyes were the glowing amber discs I had seen in my dream.

We arrived at Kuala Lipis just before sunset, and seemingly within the blink of an eye we were transported into a different world. We showered and changed at the government rest-house, then dined at the local Planters Club,
with beery, red-faced men and loud-mouthed women making the dining room a clamorous and irritating place. I was glad to escape, and to settle back in the car with Denis by my side as we set off for KL. To watch the black night whip past and hear the nightjars in the invisible trees.

It must have been tiredness, but I fell asleep longing to be back in the jungle.

Chapter Twelve

T
he moment we arrived at Parry Drive I knew something was wrong. Mother was fanatical about not wasting electricity and we never had an unnecessary bulb burning if she could help it, but tonight it seemed that every light in the flat was on, even the powerful patio lamp on the upstairs verandah.

Denis wanted to come in with me but I insisted that he drop me off. ‘I promise I'll phone,' I said, giving him a hurried kiss. ‘Goodbye, Ismail. Thank you for coming into the ulu with us.'

I could hear Mother crying the moment I opened the front door. Not just crying but racked by deep, painful sobs that sounded as if they were tearing her apart. My immediate thought was that Tanya must be dead, and I felt an almost physical pain in my chest. We had been enemies for so long that our recent friendship had been all the sweeter. She must have committed suicide, I decided, preparing myself for the worst. I wished I had been wiser and more supportive when she had sought my help over Eugene. Her desperate desire to marry and so achieve a sense of identity had been at war with her horror at being close to a man. A sense of guilt, too, must have played a part: she had known that she could not give Eugene the love he had a right to expect, and had probably felt that she had cheated him in consenting to marry.

The sobbing came from Mother's room at the end of the corridor, and one glance into Tanya's room on the way told me all I needed to know. Everything personal had vanished. The dressing table, which usually groaned with Tanya's make-up paraphernalia and her jewellery and trinkets, was bare. The bed was stripped and the open cupboard empty of her dresses.

There were tears in my eyes as I burst into Mother's room and ran to embrace her. She had been sitting on her bed but instead of responding to
my outstretched arms she stood up and pointed at me accusingly. ‘So, you are back at last. Where were you when your mother needed you so much? Running around the jungle with your fancy friends! Have you no loyalty, Nona? Have you no shame?'

I was so astounded by this reception that I simply stood in the middle of the room, my mouth open, staring at her. She really was a sight. She had pulled a dressing gown over a summer frock, her hair was all over the place, and her face was streaked with mascara.

‘What has happened to Tanya?' I asked.

‘Don't you dare mention that harlot's name in this house!' Mother shouted at me. ‘She was a viper at my breast! She lied to me, she cheated me, she took all the love and kindness that I could give her, and then she betrayed me like a lying Judas!'

I came and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Mother, please sit down and tell me what Tanya has done. Otherwise I won't know what you are talking about.' I tried to put force and authority into my voice because long experience had told me that when Mother was in this mood she needed firmness.

Mother stepped away. ‘For why are you suddenly interested in what Tanya has done?' she asked. ‘You go away for days at a time – during a busy time at the salon – and then you turn up at home and demand to know what Tanya has done!' She took a long breath and her voice rose in pitch. ‘What has Tanya
not
done? She has walked out on me after all the years I have cared for her. She has disappeared into the night like a thief, taking all her belongings with her. And leaving me a note to say she is marrying Mister God Almighty Eugene Aubrey in Penang, and taking off on a cruise to Europe!' Her tirade came to a sudden end as choking sobs racked her once again.

I stood up and put my arms around her, and this time she sunk into my embrace. ‘It is so hurtful, Nona!' she wailed. ‘I have perhaps not been a perfect mother to Tanya or you, but I have tried my very best. To have her sneak out from my house like this! It is so painful I think I might die!'

I gathered the story slowly from her over the half hour. Mother had woken that morning without any inkling that something untoward had happened, and stumbled into the kitchen in her usual way to make tea for Tanya and herself. She had seen a note propped against the kettle but not being able to read it without her glasses did not give it any heed. She had therefore gone into Tanya's room with her tea, quite unprepared for the empty bed and stripped room. Tanya was usually so predictable that her
sudden disappearance had shocked Mother to the core and she had rung the police. It was only after the police had been with her a while, taking a missing persons statement and trying to keep her calm, that her eyes had fallen on the note and she had at last read it.

I read it myself. It was friendly in tone but the message it bore must have chilled Mother to the bone.

Dear Julia,

I am afraid that I am going to be a coward and leave you this note. I hate scenes and I know there would be a terrible scene if I told you face to face what Eugene and I have decided to do. We are going to catch the midnight train tonight for Penang, and tomorrow we will be married by a civil registrar before boarding the China for a honeymoon in England and Europe. When we return to Malaya we will not return to KL but live elsewhere, and I do not expect our paths will cross again. I know you will never forgive me for running away like this, so it is best, dear Julia, that we cut our ties cleanly. Please forgive your dear friend Tanya.

It was a hurtful note, insensitive and unnecessarily cruel. Insecure, sensitive people are often the cruellest, because they are so preoccupied by their own pain that they have little energy left to empathise with others.

‘Look, Mother,' I said in the most authoritative voice I could manage, ‘you must pull yourself together. It's no good crying over what has happened. Tanya has been very cruel in the way she has told you she is leaving home, but you must accept that she has the right to leave at any time, and to get married.'

‘So you are on Tanya's side after all,' Mother huffed, drawing away from me. ‘I should not have expected otherwise.' Her voice, so soft and plaintive a second before, had become harsh and vituperative. ‘You two planned this business between you, did you not? Are you also a snake at my bosom, Nona, about to bite me?'

I slapped my knee. ‘Stop it, Mother, or I will walk out of here this instant! You are talking absolute rot and I will not tolerate it anymore!' I was tired and emotionally drained, and my irritation finally gave me the urgency and authority I needed to get through to Mother. She saw that I meant what I was saying, and I could see the rising anger in her check and then subside.
She was a typical Russian, my mother. At times of stress she needed someone stronger than her to keep turbulent emotions in check. Perhaps that is why Russia put up with its Tsar for so long, and then the Bolsheviks. They both kept a firm hand on the reins.

It was after midnight before I finally got to bed, and lay staring up into the darkness. So much had happened that day that it was impossible to sleep. So many thoughts and memories tumbled through my head. The profound peace of the ulu. The tiger padding silently through dappled sunlight. Usa and Busu waving goodbye from the raft. They would be going back to the longhouse in the morning the hard way, trekking through the forest laden with salt and other essentials for their people, purchased with the money Denis had given them in payment for their labours.